A Small Kindness
by lemondropseverus
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and the deputy headmistress is alone. Or is she?


_Author's Note : _

_Dear reader, _

_This is my small Christmas gift for all of you who have the patience to follow Fire and Ice. This is no way related to the aforementioned story, but I do hope that you will enjoy reading it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it. I will update Fire and Ice at some point in the future (hopefully soon). _

_This fiction is dedicated to all those who reviewed Fire and Ice: _**Chrissiemusa****, ****HB rules**, **Princess Sammi, ****chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom,** **melissa Ivory**, _and_ **LongVodka**** Thank you! **

_Also dedicated to my very special friend and big sister:_** NextChristineDaae. **

**Merry Christmas to you all, **

_Lemondrop_

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><p><strong>A Small Kindness<strong>

**A Cackle's Christmas Story **

Constance Hardbroom, the straight-laced deputy of Cackle's Academy took a long hard look at her surroundings and tightened her dark forest-green cloak around her. Mound and mounds of white, untouched snow were now filling the stone courtyard of the castle and falling through the cracks of a roof that had seen far too many winters without being repaired. In that static, picturesque winter scenario, without the girls' voices to make it come to life, Overblow Castle looked like a hibernating giant. A completely miserable hibernating giant. The woman gripped her cloak tighter to protect herself against the cold gust of wind that was engulfing her and raised her deep hazel eyes to the sky. Although it was the end of December the sky was a clear blue that was complementing the surreal white completely. Through the few clouds, feeble rays of sunlight shone and for a moment, the potions mistress allowed them to caress her pale face. She took a deep breath, the cold unyielding winter air hurting her throat and lungs and listened closely for any sign of movement. There was none.

The eerie silence of the castle together with the colourless surroundings gave her a terrible sense of solitude. Like every year she was alone. Two days had passed since the girls had left for the winter holidays and the other members of the staff followed them suite. Miss Bat had gone on yet another trip in outer-Mongolia, proclaiming that the Mongolian priests were more than eager to have her for Christmas and teach her a new chant they had developed. Imogen Drill had boasted for days and days about her trip with her boyfriend, Serge, to Canada and had been more than excited when said boyfriend appeared in all his manly glory to pick her up. Like every year, Miss Cackle went to visit her aunt and her impressive stock of cousins. Even Frank Blossom and Mrs Tapioca had gone to their respective families, the latter promising both the headmistress and the deputy that she will bring some "real Italian parmegiano" from her trip to her home country. In short, like every year, Constance was alone.

As she walked back to the castle, the deputy tried to abate her feeling of loneliness that had unequivocally took a hold of her soul by pondering the benefits of being alone for almost two weeks. After all, she did have a particular interesting potions study to read and mounds of paperwork to finish. Plus, didn't she always say that when she had a bit of time for herself she would start working on developing the Invisibility Draught to include also sound not only sight? Yes, what better time to do that then when she was alone and had the entire castle to herself? Feeling a surge of excitement, the woman wanted to go to her potions lab but her treacherous legs carried her elsewhere and she found herself standing in the doorway of the staff room.

Truth be told, she had no idea what she was doing in the staff room. It wasn't that the room was particularly cosy or beautifully decorated. Like every year, Davina had declared that the decoration of the staff room was her duty, as she clearly was the most artistically-endowed out of the members of the staff. Back then, Constance had wanted to remind her of last Christmas' disaster when she had seen fit to put candles in the tree and light them up with magic, the experiment resulting into a burning mass of branches inside the staff room. But, as Amelia had informed her beforehand that she had managed to convince the chanting teacher not to play with fire, the deputy had uncharacteristically let the matter drop and allowed the eccentric artist to decorate the room however it struck her fancy. As such, the woman found herself into a room where bright green, red and yellow were the predominant colours and facing a slightly crooked Christmas tree that was filled with paper flowers of all sizes and colours.

As she sat on a rickety old chair with a warm mug of freshly poured tea in her hand, Constance pondered whether she should change the tree to something that was more Christmas appropriate and tasteful. Maybe she could at least dull the colours of the flowers. And yet she could not bring herself to do it. It wasn't that she didn't have the ability, because she did and she would have been able to change it in less than a heartbeat. But there was something unmistakably Miss Bat about that horrible looking tree. Something that she did not want to loose.

Constance sighed softly and closed her eyes for a second. With her free hand she released the top two buttons of her dress and allowed her long dark locks to fall freely on her back and shoulders. As she was alone she might as well be comfortable. She combed her long hair and massaged her scalp with her free hand, remembering that long, long time before, her mother used to do the same thing while braiding her hair. She did not come from an especially wealthy household or an especially happy one either. Truth be told, she had grown up in a less than happy atmosphere. Her father had been a great man, a powerful wizard, and a skilful and intelligent potion master. He had also been an alcoholic who, when drunk, had a quick temper and a penchant for violence. Her mother had been a sweet, loving woman who had never had the strength to oppose her husband. An unfortunate potions accident when Constance had been two had left her…not quite right, and had made her husband seek absolution in scotch and whiskey. And yet Christmas had always been a happy time. The only happy time, really.

Her mother would always have a "good day" on Christmas. She would always ask her to help with the decorations and her father would always lift her up to put the angel on top of the tree. That was the only time she was never afraid of his big, calloused hands. Then they would make ginger-bread cookies and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows while listening to carols on the radio, her mother singing along off-tune, in her high-pitch voice. Opening her eyes and looking at the tree she could not help but feel a horrible sense of longing. Christmas had used to mean so much, to be such a happy time, and now it meant so little. While before it was the only time when she truly had a family, now it was the only time she was unmistakably alone.

Lost in her reverie she barely had time to register the sound that came from behind her before turning abruptly. Her eyes met with a sight she did not expect to see. Miss Cackle dressed in her warm winter clothes, her cloak soaked and wrinkled from broomstick travel watching her intently with kind eyes. In those pale blue eyes Constance saw what she never expected to see. She saw infinite warmth, affection and, above all, understanding. And they were all directed towards her.

"Miss Cackle, is there something wrong? Were you not supposed to be with your family?" Constance asked in her usual clipped tone, a hint of confusion clear in her voice.

Amelia watched her deputy closely and allowed a calm, grandmotherly smile to appear on her face. The kind of smile that she directed towards all the students that were sent to her office. With her long dark hair cascading down her back and the top button of her black dress opened, Constance looked less like her dour deputy and more like the confused young woman she had met fifteen years previously. The young woman that, despite her high qualifications, had begged her for a job in a second-rate school. The young woman that had been raised in an uncertain environment where survival was the priority. The young woman that wanted nothing better than to escape and hide. For years and years she had seen that girl of twenty develop into the woman she was today and she cared for her the same way that a mother cares for her child. She had grown to know each and every of her expressions; she had learned to see behind the self-imposed cold façade. For Amelia, Constance didn't need to laugh to show that she was happy. The weak, subdued, twinkle in her dark eyes was enough. She didn't need to shout when she was truly angry or gasp when she was surprised for one look into her eyes was enough for the headmistress to know how her potion mistress felt. As far as Constance was concerned her eyes were truly the mirror of her delicate soul. And now those beautiful eyes, framed by dark lashes showed a mixture of sadness, confusion and, surprisingly, hope.

"I have all the family that I need here, dear" Amelia answered softly, poured herself a cup of tea and sat across from the younger woman.

Constance's eyes widened slightly and she had to grip her own black cup tighter to prevent it from falling from her now slightly shaking hands. She didn't say anything. How could she? She was too proud to acknowledge what Amelia was implying. Yet, the look of extreme gratitude in her black eyes was enough for the headmistress who smiled slightly at how childish her deputy could be sometimes.

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><p><em>AN: I am not especially good at one-shots but I do hope you enjoyed it. You know what you have to do if you want to comment on the story or just randomly talk. *wink*_

_*hands broomstick-shaped gingerbread cookies*_

_Once again: Merry Christmas!_


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